Lost Girl
by Strangehearts047
Summary: What would have happened if things had been done differently? Could one person change the fate of the island and unlock the secrets of the Others? Set in mid1st season. OC
1. Chapter 1

Title: Lost Girl

Rating: PG13 or T, I suppose

Warnings: Violence, "Minor coarse language," nothing too terrible...

Summary:OC – What would have happened if things had turned out differently? Could someone change the entire fate of the island and unlock the secrets of the Others? Set in the mid-1st season. Before Deaux Ex Machina.(I know, old)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story(except for the OC). They were created and are owned by JJ Abrams, ABC, and Touchstone Television.

Sidra Willow Carpenter sat on the warm, sandy beach, letting her curly chestnut brown hair wave around in the wind. The day was warm, and her hazel eyes picked up every color in the jungle and the water. Most people would think this an ideal vacation spot. The only drawbacks were that there were man-eating monsters, a psychopathic murderer, and no way off this God-forsaken spit of land the others had the nerve to call an island.

Sidra and the others had been stranded on this island almost a month ago, and they all knew no one was coming to get them. Of course, that was perfectly fine with Sidra. No leaving meant no more prissy foster parents to put up with. No more dealing with stuck-up social workers who "only wanted the best for her."

Sidra had been in foster homes ever since her adoptive parents had been caught selling drugs when she was nine. She'd given eight families a whirl in the last six years, and she wasn't anxious to test drive another one. She disappointed all of them, and they all shunned her.

With each new family, she'd given herself a new name, mostly to disassociate herself with the old family. Amara, Brenda, Brit, Gypsy, Kelsey, Leigh, Miriam, Martina, and Zillah. She'd chosen them all because of their deep, depressing meanings. After all these years, she could still remember every one of them, and the meanings that went with them.

Amara: Unfading

Brenda: Flame

Brit: Strong

Gypsy: Wanderer

Kelsey: Warrior

Leigh: Weary

Miriam: Rebellious

Martina: Warlike

Zillah: Shadow

Most of the them were things she was or wanted to be.

"Hey, could you give me some help here?" a voice behind her asked. Why did they have to ask her? Why couldn't they ask some other, tired survivor that didn't have anything better to do? She'd been able to avoid the attention of everyone on the island for at least five weeks. Why couldn't it have stayed that way?

"Hello?" the voice prodded. Well, ignoring them didn't work. What the hell. She'd help them out. If she didn't, heads would start turning and mouths would start flapping.

Sidra turned around, getting up and brushing off the back of her jeans. The man who'd disturbed her was standing there with a huge piece of wreckage from the plane. Damn, she thought to herself. He was hot. He had perfectly ruffled brown hair and intense eyes. His body wasn't all that bad either. But he had to be at least ten years older than her, and she didn't do older men...usually.

"I'm Boone," the man said. Sidra flicked her eyes over his smoking hot bod but didn't answer. If she talked, she'd flirt. And then, she'd be getting...too close. The last thing she wanted to do around here was make "new friends."

Sidra helped Boone carry the metal to a place on the beach just a few yards away. There were already plane seats and bamboo sticks piled high in clumps that an older black man was weaving his way through. Behind him was a boy, obviously his son, who had to be about ten years old. Ugh, way too young. She was five years older than him, after all.

"Well, hello, curly. Don't believe we've met," a southern man with very sexy blond hair and a chiseled physique – which he was clearly proud of considering his lack of shirt – said, leaning against a tree. Sidra rolled her eyes. Another new friend. And what was with that nickname, anyway?

"The name's Deirdre, by the way," she said coldly. True, Deirdre wasn't her real name, but she liked it. It meant "sorrow," after all. Besides, who cared if they knew her real name or not? This guy sure didn't.

"Good to know, Curly," the man said, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. Oh, Sidra thought, what I wouldn't do for a good smoke.

"And what's your name?" the newly-named Deirdre asked. If she could warm up to him just enough, she could probably get a light out of him. And maybe another one of those airplane bottles he was holding in his hand.

"Sawyer, Sassy," he said, throwing her a cocky grin that she'd seen only too many times before during her stay in Texas with the Buddhist family.

"Well, nice to meet you, Sawyer Sassy," she said, playing on his words. He chuckled and puffed smoke out of his mouth.

"Nice one, Curly. But the name's just Sawyer," he said. Deirdre threw him a sarcastic glance as if to say "I know, moron." Yes, they were getting along just fine. Just fine indeed.

"Where're you from?" Sawyer asked. Good, he was warming up to her. Or, at least, as warm as his type could get. And she knew his type. The kind that found pretty ladies and charmed them into a good romp, then leave them to wake up in the morning alone and without a phone number. And possibly with some money mysteriously missing. Yeah, he was a User.

"All over...literally," she said, playing his game. All over...

An eight-year-old Sidra walked through the halls of her parents' Victorian house. Paul and Diane Carpenter were supposed to be upstairs right now, tucking her into bed. But they were nowhere to be seen. Where were they? Sidra peeked through door after door, but she couldn't find her parents anywhere.

"Mommy? Daddy?" Sidra called as she wandered in the dark. Normally, she didn't like to walk around at night. The shadows and noises scared her. But she needed to find her parents. Were they playing hide-and-seek with her? Sidra continued to call for her parents as she neared the back of her house.

"Maybe I can help you find them," someone said from behind her. Sidra turned around and screamed as she was carried into the house's panic room. The man dropped her on the floor once the door was closed, and she saw her parents huddled in the corner.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Sidra cried, crawling over to them. She was still scared, but she felt better knowing that her parents were there. Her daddy would definitely protect her now. Sidra's mommy cried and hugged her daughter to her chest. There were other men in the room dressed in all black. They had big guns in their hands and looked mad. This wasn't hide-and-seek.

Before Sidra could say or do anything, the first man pulled her mommy up and had his gun pointed at her. Sidra cried and reached out to her mommy, but her daddy pulled her back. He looked scared, too.

"You can't cross us, Paul. Now this is what happens," the man said, almost sadly. He brought his gun up and shot Sidra's mommy twice in the chest. Sidra screamed and tried to run to her mommy, but her daddy held her back. Her mommy's shirt turned red, and her eyes just kept staring at the ceiling. That wasn't how her mommy slept.

Sidra crawled closer to her daddy for security, but the man grabbed her arm and pulled her up to him. She screamed and quivered with fear, looking at what he'd done to her mommy. Would the same thing happen to her?

"Daddy! Daddy, help!" she screamed, trying to wriggle away, but the man was too strong. He kept her stuck by his side with the gun pointed at her head. "Don't fight him, Sidra," her daddy said. He was shaking too, and he was all wet from sweat. He kept looking down at her mommy, then back to Sidra.

"That's right, little girl. Don't fight me. This doesn't have to be any harder than it already is," the man said. "Say goodbye to your daughter, Paul." He brought the gun up, but turned and shot her daddy in the head instead. Sidra screamed and started kicking and hitting the man. He finally let her go and left, locking her in her own panic room.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Sidra cried, crawling over to them. Sidra put her head on her mommy's chest. It was cold and wasn't moving. She couldn't hear her mommy's heart thumping either. Sidra did the same to her daddy, but he didn't do anything. He hadn't protected her. He hadn't even tried. She was alone now. Truly alone. Her mommy and daddy weren't there anymore. Weren't there to hold her, or help her, or tuck her in at night. They were gone. Gone forever.


	2. Chapter 2

Deirdre walked through the jungle. She'd never really been out here before except to find a place to pee. And in the first couple of weeks when she'd wanted to explore. But the jungle had gotten old. It was just a bunch of trees and dirt. Not that the beach was any different. It was just a bunch of sand and water. What a boring trip this had turned out to be.  
But today, Deirdre wasn't just aimlessly wandering. No, she was looking for something. Someone, actually. She wanted to find that bald dude that Boone came out here with. They had to be around here somewhere. She'd been following their footprints for a while now, but she'd lost their trail a few minutes ago when they went by a patch of trees.  
Deirdre rolled her eyes as she realized what was going on. That creepy guy was testing her, seeing if she could find him. She knew what they'd done. They'd backtracked, and now they were following her. How brilliant.  
Deirdre casually walked behind a tree, pretending she was still looking for them. As soon as she was pretty much out of sight, she stealthily climbed the tree so she was directly above the path. It was a trick she'd learned while she was living with that one family who went camping every weekend. Deirdre held back from laughing as Boone and the old guy walked right under her, following her footprints. As soon as the two had gone past her branch, she rolled herself off the branch and landed on her feet. Just like a cat.  
"Would've been a great plan if you hadn't tried it on me," she said once she was upright. Boone whirled around, completely shocked that she'd discovered them. The other guy just slowly turned back, not surprised in the slightest.  
"Nice trick, Sidra," he said. She caught her breath until she realized that he must have seen the flight manifest.  
"It's Deirdre, by the way," she said, regaining her composure. She kept her eyes on the old guy. He was old, but he was shifty. Always casting that all-knowing glance in everyone's directions.  
"'Course it is," he said. There it was. That glint in his eye that said he knew more than he was letting on.  
"I want to help you with…whatever you've been doing out here," Deirdre said. She'd decided this after she'd seen them come out here. She really had nothing else to do except rub off on Sassy and sit on her butt all day. She was not going to come out of this deserted island thing actually gaining weight.  
"You want to help us? You didn't even want to help me carry the bulkhead this morning," Boone said, aggravated.  
"Yeah, well, things change, Robin," Deirdre said, referring to how he always followed Batman, here, around like his sidekick.  
"It's alright, Boone. I think we could use some good help. This girl was able to beat us at our own game," Batman said.  
"Locke-" Boone started, but stopped at the look from his master. So, Locke was his name.  
"Well, Locke," she said, emphasizing his name, "are you in or out?"  
"That depends. Are you in?" he asked. What the heck was he talking about? This dude had some bad mojo going on.  
"Of course I'm in. I found you, didn't I?" she said, getting irritated with this guy's riddles.  
"You certainly did. Feel free to come with us," Locke said, walking away. Boone cast a dirty look in her direction and walked off after his idol.  
"Like I haven't seen that before," Deirdre muttered to herself as she slowly followed them. She didn't want to appear overzealous, though she'd probably accomplished that when she'd spent an hour tracking them down in the jungle. Oh, what the heck, she thought to herself, this could be fun. If anything, it'll keep me active.

A ten year old Sidra sat on the curb outside of her newest residence in New York. It was dark out, and it looked like it was about to rain. She'd moved here five months ago after her adoptive parents had been arrested for selling drugs. It was a "nice" neighborhood, as her social worker had said.  
Brenda, as she called herself now, didn't really care that the neighborhood was nice. She just cared that she got a chance to eat something. She didn't really give a care if these people liked her. Oh, they were nice people, but she just didn't like them.  
At first, she'd tried to do well. Maybe if I'm good enough, they'll like me, and they'll want to keep me. All she had really wanted then was for someone to want her. Someone to love her. But she was just a way for them to get money. They'd made sure that any of the estate she'd inherited when her parents were killed – murdered – went into their bank accounts. So much for being loved.  
Now, Brenda just wanted to get away. Wanted to be free of this stupid system. She wanted to be on her own. To be strong and independent. To find the person who'd murdered her parents and taken away her life.  
So, here she was on the street outside of her "home," waiting for the bus that stopped there every night at nine. She had enough money. Well, she'd stolen it from her foster parents' sock drawer. But it was rightfully hers, anyway. She'd inherited it, and they'd "hidden it for safekeeping."  
"Brenda!" an angry voice shouted across the lawn. Brenda looked down the street, hoping the bus would be turning the corner soon. It didn't.  
"Brenda, you answer me this instant! Don't you ignore me!" her foster mom shouted as she closed the distance between them. Brenda turned around bravely to face the epitome of anger.  
"Get in the house right now!" Brenda's foster mom yelled. Brenda got up to go inside, but she felt a hand on her shoulder.  
"And just what is this? Knowing you I wouldn't be surprised if it was-" she stopped as she looked inside the bag and saw a few changes of clothes, a diary, and all of Brenda's inheritance money. "That's it, you little thief. You're leaving first thing in the morning." And just like that, Brenda was shipped off to another house.

Brenda arrived at her new family's house in Kansas within a week. It was a nice, country house complete with a corn field and barn. Did they seriously have horses? Wow. Way out in the booneys for her. Wonderful. Just wonderful.  
"Oh, Sidra! It's so good to have you here!" an overweight woman wearing faded jeans and an out-of-date t-shirt said, engulfing her in a big hug.  
"I liked to be called Brit," she said. She'd chosen that name during the plane ride. She'd heard that it meant "strong." She'd always wanted to be strong. Brit wanted to be nice to this woman. Warm up to her and her new family, but she just couldn't. She didn't want it to end up like last time. Or the time before that. She'd wanted to be a member of the family, but they'd shunned her. Or it could wind up like the time before that. She'd loved her parents, and they'd loved her more than anything else in the world. But they were dead.  
"Brit? Oh, well, that's a beautiful name. Why don't you come inside? We've got your room all ready. We're all very excited," the woman said. Brit smiled. Maybe Kansas wouldn't be so bad after all.  
The Henderson family, as they were called, consisted of the parents, Norma and John, and their children, Billy, Weston, Charlene, Emily, and Ben, three of which were adopted. They had a wonderful house with a room for each child and a cellar connecting to the kitchen. And yes, they did have horses in their barn! This was the best place she'd ever stayed in, aside from her parents' house.  
Then, six months later, disaster struck. Kansas, being a proud member of Tornado Alley, had frequent tornadoes every few months. Sometimes every few weeks or days. Brit had gotten through her first couple of tornadoes just fine. Go down into the cellar and wait it out. But it was that last tornado that did the most damage.  
It swept through like any other twister until it decided it actually wanted to do some damage. It collided with the Henderson barn, tore up every single ear of corn, and even sliced off a part of their house. Yes, it was a true tragedy. One that not even Norma Henderson herself could fully recover from.  
"Darling, Brit. You know how much money we lost in the twister, right?" Norma asked Brit one day. Brit nodded, wondering what that had to do with her. Did she have to give up her allowance? Because she would if she had to.  
"Well, we just can't afford to house all of our foster children anymore. And, I'm sorry, but there's a wonderful family in Maine that's been looking for a wonderful girl just like you.  
"And we know they'll be good to you, and they have lots of money to help you out with. I'm sorry, Brit, but we have to let you go," Norma finished. Brit just stared at her foster mother. Was this really happening? Not again! She'd been so happy with them. Why did she always get everything taken away from her?  
Brit and everyone else in the Henderson family cried as a social services worker lead her out the door and to a shiny black car. On to a new family. A new state. A new home. A new life.


	3. Chapter 3

Deirdre sat on the beach again. She'd just gotten back from her little escapade with Batman and Robin. It had been much more boring than she'd expected. They'd walked around for a little while, followed a boar trail which had lead them straight into a little pool that had already been discovered, and finally ended up picking some fruit. A big waste of time. She didn't think she'd go again.  
And now, she was back on the beach. No matter what she did, she always ended up on the beach! Was there something wrong with her? No. There was something wrong with everyone else. That's it. They're all crazy from exhaustion. They should be, wandering around in the jungle all day for nothing. But she was perfectly sane. That's because she'd preserved her energy.  
Heck, who was she kidding? She was a lazy trouble-maker, and they were all the supporters of the camp. She was no good to them. She just took up her spot of the beach and ate her portion of the food. Why didn't she just starve herself and save them the fruit?  
"Hey," a voice said from behind her. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. People just liked to torment her with their company.  
"Hey, I'm talking to you," the voice pried. Deirdre rolled her eyes and nonchalantly looked at the figure looming above her. It was Robin.   
"What a wonderful surprise," she said as she turned back around. She didn't need to show any respect to him. Well, she didn't need to show respect to anyone, but she might want to give some of the others their pep talks. Like Sassy, over there. One of these days, he might actually toss a cig her way.  
"Why did you come with us today?" he asked, more hostile than need be. Deirdre snorted to herself. She was one to talk.  
"Needed the exercise," Deirdre said, still not looking at him.  
"You 'needed the exercise'?" Robin asked, apparently surprised.  
"Are you a parrot? Okay. Let's try something else. I'm an idiot," she said, glancing back at him as she threw the phrase.  
"Fine. I shouldn't have bothered," Robin said, walking away. Fine by me, Deirdre thought. She really didn't care if he stayed or went. As long as he didn't bother her.  
"You like to get on peoples' nerves, don't you?" Robin asked. Deirdre groaned and slammed her head on her knees before getting up.  
"Why are you still here? Huh? Don't you realize that I don't want to talk to you?" Deirdre snapped, getting angry at this guy's persistence.  
"Well, maybe if you hadn't insisted on coming earlier, I wouldn't have to talk to you," Robin said, behaving more like a child than she ever had.  
"'Have' to talk to me? I'm not making you do anything, you know. I'd be just as happy to be alone right now," Deirdre said, showing an unusual amount of emotion. Well, this guy ticked her off.  
"Exactly. You don't help with the camp. You just sit here by yourself all the time. The least you could do is to help keep the fires going," Robin said. Deirdre blinked a few times. Had he just called her lazy? It was fine for her to insult herself, but when someone else did – Deirdre brought back her arm for a mouth-blow that would be so hard, his dentist would feel it.  
"Hey now! Let's not get violent here," Sassy said, swaggering up to them. Deirdre dropped her arm and relaxed her stance. She'd seen him beat the pulp out of Robin once, and she knew he'd do it again if need be. Heck, he'd do it again for the fun of it.  
"It's her fault," Robin said. Deirdre rolled her eyes and snorted.  
"What are you, five? You're the one who came to me, remember?" she said, marveling how childish this dude could be while still looking so good.  
"Fine. I did. And now I'm leaving," Robin said, turning tail and stomping away to his master, Batman.  
"Now, what could get you in it so bad with him?" Sassy asked, sidling up to her with his arms crossed smugly across his chest.  
"He's an idiot. I don't do too well with idiots," Deirdre said, taking up the same stance.  
"That makes two of us. He's a prissy son of a -"  
"Is there any reason you're hanging around here?" Deirdre asked, cutting him off. He looked at her, almost annoyed that he'd been interrupted.  
"What, you don't like my company? Didn't your parents teach you any manners?" Sassy asked. Deirdre stopped fuming and stared at him. Parents.  
"Which parents?" she asked, getting angry. This time, it wasn't out of annoyance. It was out of grief.  
"Which parents? I mean the people that raised you," Sassy said, chuckling at her question.  
"You have to be more specific. Do you mean my real parents, my adoptive parents, or my eight sets of foster parents?" Deirdre asked, tears welling up in her eyes. She easily blinked them away. It was a thing she'd gotten good at over the years.  
Sassy looked at her for a moment, wondering if she was serious. Deirdre stared him down, her face growing hot and red. After a while, his face softened, and a look of – what was it – sadness, maybe, came into his eyes. Great. Another person to be pitied by.  
"Look. I don't need your pity or sympathy. I've gotten along fine over the years without either," Deirdre said, roughly slamming his shoulder as she walked past.  
"When?" Sassy asked. "When did it happen?" Deirdre stopped in her tracks and just looked ahead, remembering. In the panic room. An Asian guy. Shot her mom. Then her dad.  
"When I was eight. We got thrown into our panic room. He shot my mom in the chest. Then my dad in the head. I got their blood on my dress," she said, remembering the way her parents' blood had leaked all over her white nightgown.  
There was a moment of silence from behind. Deirdre turned around, expecting to see those eyes filling with pity for the poor little orphan girl. But she didn't. There wasn't any pity. Just understanding. He knew what it was like.  
"What happened to your parents?" she asked. She could tell by the look on his face that he'd been where she was. Experienced the pain of watching your family die.

Sidra walked down the street to her house in downtown Cleveland. It was night, and the houses were run-down and littered with toys from young children. Huge potholes covered the street, and neighborhood cats darted in and out of sight.  
A street lamp flickered above her head, and Sidra looked down at her feet. They were wearing black tennis shoes that matched the rest of her outfit. She'd taken to wearing black lately. She'd even managed to dye her hair black with blue tips. Yup. She was a Goth.  
She wasn't trying to be different or individual. She was just extremely fascinated with death lately. When she'd turned twelve, she'd actually begun to realize that she'd be skipping around from house to house until she was too old for the system. All because her parents were dead.  
She'd also taken on the name Kelsey. Most girls thought it sounded pretty, but that wasn't what she'd had in mind. Kelsey meant "warrior." A thing she'd always thought of herself as. She fought every day not to give in to the temptation to just end it all in the bathtub while spending some quality time with a razor.  
Kelsey looked up as she reached her house. A run-down, yellow bungalow, it was one of the smaller houses on the street. There were still jackolantern lights strung above the porch from last Halloween, and event that she had not attended. A couple of cats peered out the window at her, and she could see shadows moving around inside. There was an unfamiliar woman in a suit and skirt. This wasn't good.  
"What's going on?" Kelsey asked as she came in the door. Her foster parents and the woman looked around at her.  
"I've decided that this isn't a safe environment for you or your siblings," the woman said coldly. Kelsey's two foster brothers and one foster sister were sitting on the beaten-up, dirty couch, looking at her sadly.  
"There's far too much clutter. There are fruit flies everywhere. And the place is overrun with old food and bacteria," the woman said. "Also, this family has been reported to us many times before. We've decided that you children aren't safe here."  
Kelsey didn't say anything. She knew the drill. She'd been living here for three months, and already she was leaving. Hmm. So much for her new friends at school.  
Kelsey helped get her siblings packed and into the sedan waiting for them. They cried and tried to jump out of the car. She just sat there solemnly. She'd been through this so many times before, she knew it was no use. She'd begun to learn not to get attached to her families. They never lasted. She never got to stay.

"Get in the apartment, Sidra," her new foster mother snapped at her once the social services lady had driven off. She was now living in San Diego. What a wonderful place.  
"You can call me Leigh," she said. As always, she'd picked the name on her way over here. It meant "weary." And she was weary. Weary of moving.  
"Well, Leigh, get in the apartment before I knock you in there," the woman said. Leigh obediently walked up to the apartment door and went in. This should be fun.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Okay, so I've been seeing a lot of hits on this story, but barely any reviews. And I know this doesn't apply to everyone, but it really annoys me when people read a story and don't review. Reviews are what we authors live on! No reviews, no new chapters. It's just frustrating to see almost 200 hits, and only 3 reviews. Anywhoo, that was my rant for the day. Here's the next chapter!

Deirdre was closer to camp than usual. In fact, she was almost too close for comfort. All of these people milling around, keeping the fire going even though it was broad daylight. Did they really think that signal fire was going to attract anyone? It had been over a month, and no one had even passed close to their air space. No one would come.

But today, she was here, sitting on a log a fair distance away from the fire, which had been dubbed "Town Central." She was sitting at the opening to Sawyer's tent, making sure he was asleep.

After the performance at the beach, he'd simply walked off. She'd thought that was just rude. She'd told him about her life story, and one little question sends him running. Though, she couldn't make judgments like that. She'd had her fair share of ill-manners.

Deirdre got up and quietly walked into Sawyer's tent. Most people would think this qualified as stalker material, but she was just going for a raid. She knew he kept his cigarettes in the duffel bag near his head. All she needed to do was grab one. She crawled past him and went for the bag, but he flipped around and grabbed her hand. He'd been awake?

"What do you think you're doin', Curly?" he asked in a dangerous tone. She looked at him for a moment then spoke.

"Taking a cigarette," she said bluntly, wrenching her arm out of his grip. He looked at her in sarcastic disbelief.

"You want one of my lights?" he asked. She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Yeah, Sassy, I want a light. It's not a crime," she said. Not that there were any laws or police on this island. Except for Sheriff Jack, that is.

"You're too young," Sawyer said, sitting back and relaxing on his blanket.

"That's bull. You probably started when you were my age," Deirdre said, crossing her arms over her chest and settling herself down. He looked up as if to say "Why aren't you gone?"

"When I was your age-"

"You were probably just like me. That's why you don't hate me," she said, finally getting his full attention.

"And how do you know I don't hate you, Curly?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in amusement.

"You're not sending me away." Sassy looked at her, and she stared him down. He knew she was right.

"Fair enough," he said, finally breaking the staring contest. Deirdre grinned with victory.

"So, can I have a light or not?" she asked stubbornly. He just looked at her sarcastically and shook his head. Once he was looking away, Deirdre quickly grabbed a cig from his pack and lit it with her lighter – which she had just barely saved in the crash. She had it in her mouth and was breathing in smoke before he could blink.

"Slick one, Curly," he said, looking at her in amusement and annoyance. She puffed out smoke at him triumphantly. Sawyer watched her smoke for a little while, seeming to be contemplating something. Finally, he spoke, much more serious than before.

"You asked me what happened about my parents," he said solemnly. He continued at her curious glance. "My mother cheated on my dad. He found out, shot her, and shot himself. I was hiding under the bed."

Deirdre watched him a moment, knowing he was telling the truth. That's why he'd been so closed off. That's why he seemed to understand when he found out about her parents. She opened her mouth, but stopped herself just short of saying "I'm sorry." That was the worst thing anyone could say. It was so cliché.

"I guess we both have our sob stories, then," she said, taking another mouthful of smoke from her cigarette. "We're not as different as we thought."

"No. We're the same, you and me," he said with that southern smirk that made her angry, aggravated, and comforted all in one.

"So it would seem."

Sidra quietly peered into the front door of her duplex in New Hampshire. She'd sneaked out earlier to drop by the local club. Yes, she was only thirteen, but any bouncer would gladly keep their mouths shut in return for a pocket stuffed full of money. They were so easy to get past. And she did look much older than she was.

But now, it was just nearing midnight, and she was only mildly tipsy. If she could just get into her room, she could pass out until the hangover was gone. But her foster parents had ears like bats. They could hear the door creak open from next door.

"Where have you been, Miriam?" her foster dad asked. Miriam was the name she'd chosen five months ago when she'd moved here. It meant "rebellious." It suited her perfectly. Especially now.

"Out," Miriam said, hoping she didn't look as disoriented as she felt.

"'Out'? You think this is some sort of joke?" Her dad asked angrily. He always got angry quickly. Mostly because he drank three times as much as she did and could hold it half as well.

"It is pretty funny, if you think about it," she said. Gosh, she must sound like such an idiot.

"This isn't funny at all! If we have to keep lying to the social worker-"

"I never said you had to lie, Bruce," she said. He growled. He never liked her to call him by his first name.

"I am your father, girl! You will show me more respect!" he shouted, slurring his words.

"You're not my father! My father is dead!" Miriam screamed at him. His eyes lit up, and he slammed her back to the wall.

"How dare you say that to me!" he roared, smacking her across the face. Miriam put her hands up to shield herself from the blows that just kept coming. Her lip started to bleed, and a bruise was forming on her cheek. But Bruce didn't care. He just kept hitting her, over and over and over again.

The next day, a social worker came by. Apparently, the woman living in the other side of the house had heard what was going on and called them. The social worker had taken one look at Miriam's face and made her decision. She was to be moved, again. What a wonderful world.


End file.
